


I'd like it if you stayed

by belasteals



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-10
Updated: 2016-06-10
Packaged: 2018-07-14 04:14:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7153085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/belasteals/pseuds/belasteals
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gendry's always there when Arya needs him the most.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'd like it if you stayed

**Author's Note:**

> Title, and general inspiration, taken from the song "400 Lux" by Lorde.  
> Arya is 19, Gendry is 24

It only takes one text – _Bad night._ – and his truck is outside her apartment in twenty minutes even though she knows it should take at least twenty-five to drive across town. Arya huddles further into her ratty sweatshirt (it was Jon’s first, and huge on her) and climbs into the passenger seat silently. The old heating unit is spluttering a little bit and Gendry has to hit it once to make it restart.

He takes her left hand in his right. They drive around like that for a while, him steering with one hand while their intertwined fingers rest on the console between them. They aren’t really going anywhere, just driving slowly through the neighborhoods around the edge of the city. Arya looks out the window at nothing.

He speaks first, when the truck is finally warm and she leans forward to turn the heating down a little. “Want to talk about it?”

She swallows thickly, and he waits patiently as she tries to find the right words. “It’s Mom and Dad’s anniversary,” she offers quietly.

“You’re missing them a lot today.” It’s not a question. He strokes the back of her hand with his thumb as he turns onto the next road.

“Yeah.” Arya keeps looking out the window. Two-story houses, white picket fences, lonely trees, repeat. She should find the blandness of it all irritating, but tonight, the stability comforts her.

“They always had date nights on their anniversary. Mom would get all dressed up and Dad would take her to a fancy restaurant, a different one every year.” She smiles, just a little, and she’s pretty sure Gendry can see it out of the corner of his eye. “The last year, Sansa thought we should bake them a cake when they were out, and when they came home Bran was covered in flour and Rickon had icing all over his face and Dad laughed until he cried.”

She can remember it clear as day, even though it was three years ago – Sansa’s look of dismay when they heard the door unlocking before they cleaned up the mess, Rickon’s infectious laughter as he dodged Robb’s best efforts to wipe off his face, their mom’s rare, unrestrained grin when Bran made dumb ghost noises just because. It was a good memory, a happy memory, even though Jon had been staying at a friend’s house like he did every year, and four weeks later…

They both fall silent, and Gendry keeps driving. Another street, another set of mostly-repetitive houses. The clock on the dashboard reads _11:56_ , nearly fifteen minutes after she got in the truck, when he speaks again.

“So at work today…” he starts on a long story about a customer at the garage, some snotty rich kid who had scratched up the side of his brand new Mustang and complained about the price of the repairs until Tobho practically kicked him out. Gendry imitates the kid’s voice and he sounds like every snotty rich kid Arya has been forced to sit through dinner with, and that voice coming from Gendry’s body is so ridiculous that she can’t help but laugh.

They’d met more than two years ago, when they were both wounded and angry at the world. Arya had gotten into a fight in some filthy alley and even though she could have handled it, she really could, she appreciated the fact that he’d been willing to back up a strange girl in a dumb brawl and didn’t even call her an idiot afterwards. Mom and Robb had just died, less than eight months after Dad, and Arya had been ready to tear the world apart brick by brick simply for being unfair. He’d been a black cloud of rage as well, bitter and cynical, but for some reason their hard edges had softened against each other and at some point he had become a safety net rather than backup. He’d quit drinking when she quit smoking, and he’d held her hand when she’d gotten her one and only tattoo, a wolf howling along her ribcage to remember her father. They’d healed together, just a little bit at a time.

Gendry talks about nothing for a long time, and Arya listens, letting his voice fill the cabin of the truck. She loves him, when the planes of their bodies fit together like puzzle pieces, when he shows up at her door with takeout before she asks, when he holds her just to remind her that he is there, and she is there, and they are there together. She loves him so much her heart is full to bursting on days like today, when he picks her up and drives her around and talks about nothing until presence of him takes the edge off the grief in her soul, even though it’s late and he has work in the morning and she can see exhaustion in his eyes. She loves him when he doesn’t press her for details or make her talk about the ghosts weighing down on her chest, because he knows she will when she’s ready and not a moment before.

It’s nearly one in the morning when he finally pulls the truck over, and she realizes they’re outside her apartment again. He walks her to the door of the building. “Are you okay?” he asks quietly.

She gives him a small, sad smile. “No. But I’m more okay.” Arya leans into his embrace, seeking safety in his arms, and he holds her close for a long, warm moment.

“Do you want me to stay? Just so you’re not alone?”

Arya of two years ago would say no, because she doesn’t need anyone to hold her up, doesn’t need anyone’s help or pity.

“Yeah. That would be nice, I think.” She kisses him sweetly, and they will face the new day, together.


End file.
